“Are you interested in architecture?” asked the young man at the chimney-piece.

“Well, I took the trouble, this summer,” said Newman, “to examine—­as well as I can calculate—­some four hundred and seventy churches.  Do you call that interested?”

“Perhaps you are interested in theology,” said the young man.

“Not particularly.  Are you a Roman Catholic, madam?” And he turned to Madame de Cintre.

“Yes, sir,” she answered, gravely.

Newman was struck with the gravity of her tone; he threw back his head and began to look round the room again.  “Had you never noticed that number up there?” he presently asked.

She hesitated a moment, and then, “In former years,” she said.

Her brother had been watching Newman’s movement.  “Perhaps you would like to examine the house,” he said.

Newman slowly brought down his eyes and looked at him; he had a vague impression that the young man at the chimney-piece was inclined to irony.  He was a handsome fellow, his face wore a smile, his mustaches were curled up at the ends, and there was a little dancing gleam in his eye.  “Damn his French impudence!” Newman was on the point of saying to himself.  “What the deuce is he grinning at?” He glanced at Madame de Cintre; she was sitting with her eyes fixed on the floor.  She raised them, they met his, and she looked at her brother.  Newman turned again to this young man and observed that he strikingly resembled his sister.  This was in his favor, and our hero’s first impression of the Count Valentin, moreover, had been agreeable.  His mistrust expired, and he said he would be very glad to see the house.

The young man gave a frank laugh, and laid his hand on one of the candlesticks.  “Good, good!” he exclaimed.  “Come, then.”

But Madame de Cintre rose quickly and grasped his arm, “Ah, Valentin!” she said.  “What do you mean to do?”

“To show Mr. Newman the house.  It will be very amusing.”

She kept her hand on his arm, and turned to Newman with a smile.  “Don’t let him take you,” she said; “you will not find it amusing.  It is a musty old house, like any other.”

“It is full of curious things,” said the count, resisting.  “Besides, I want to do it; it is a rare chance.”

“You are very wicked, brother,” Madame de Cintre answered.

“Nothing venture, nothing have!” cried the young man.  “Will you come?”

Madame de Cintre stepped toward Newman, gently clasping her hands and smiling softly.  “Would you not prefer my society, here, by my fire, to stumbling about dark passages after my brother?”

“A hundred times!” said Newman.  “We will see the house some other day.”

The young man put down his candlestick with mock solemnity, and, shaking his head, “Ah, you have defeated a great scheme, sir!” he said.

“A scheme?  I don’t understand,” said Newman.

“You would have played your part in it all the better.  Perhaps some day I shall have a chance to explain it.”